wash the poison from off my skin
by graveexcitement
Summary: Robb Stark welcomes Tywin Lannister to the land of the dead, and specifically, to the land of bickering around the ethereal not-television.
_A/N: Title comes from Castle of Glass by Linkin Park, which I was listening to when I wrote this. R+L=J. Written before the fourth season aired, so this is probably more book-canon-compliant than show-canon-compliant. Written for a prompt_ _. Originally published February 2014._

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"Wherever whores go," said Tywin Lannister.

Ned Stark winced. "That's not going to go over well," he muttered.

"Aye," said Jon Arryn from his seat next to Ned.

They were right.

"Did he just...?" Rhaegar Targaryen trailed off, staring at a shocked Tywin Lannister bleeding out.

"Dying on the privy," Robert Baratheon said, shaking his head. "Terrible way to go."

Ned ignored him. "Robb," he said, "go welcome him, will you?"

Robb Stark stood, blinking rapidly. "Aye," he said, doubtfully. This was a job he'd done before, and yet he hadn't imagined that he'd be doing it for the head of House Lannister. But, as a quick glance at the room informed him, there were no Lannisters currently spending time watching the living, and thus none that knew that it was time to welcome one of their kin.

He stepped out of the room and walked through hazy but familiar corridors. The hallways were empty, and thus less firm; if Robb had not been present, they would not have existed at all. If he looked out of the corner of his eye, the walls looked like those of Winterfell, the unburnt home of his childhood. Robb did not waste time trying to peer out of the corner of his eye, however. One left turn and two rights led him to a door emblazoned with a faintly glowing lion. He knocked.

"Come in," came a deep voice from within. Robb did so. The room he entered was small and sparse, with only a bed and two armchairs, one of which held Tywin.

"Tywin Lannister?" he asked, for politeness' sake, though he knew full well who the man was - after all, he had just watched him die. But the newly dead tended to have some issues about privacy, and so Robb would not alienate the man by immediately showing undue knowledge.

Tywin gave a brisk nod. "And you are?" he asked.

"You may consider me an envoy from the Stranger," Robb said smoothly, taking a seat in the unoccupied chair. This wasn't strictly true, but it made the explaining easier, and there was no need to get into wars or family feuds and the like. Robb currently wore a dark grey overcoat, one that was lacking in any symbols or insignia, and since Tywin had never seen him in person, he remained relatively anonymous. "I'm here to welcome you to your death."

Tywin raised an eyebrow at the young man in front of him. "Get on with it, then."

"You are well and truly dead," said Robb, slipping into his welcoming persona, giving a speech he had given several times before, though usually not to men of such import as Tywin Lannister. "No magics can resurrect you once you have reached here, so dead you will stay. All plans and plots and wishes that you held while alive have no place here. Your descendants may fulfill them, or they may not. It makes no difference. Any control you have over the realm of life is now limited to the impact you made on the individuals you knew during your life. You are out of the game, Tywin Lannister."

"The game...?"

"The game of thrones, of course. What else?" Robb snorted, shook his head. "Leave that game for your children to play."

Tywin inclined his head.

"In the meantime, there are certain activities afforded to the dead. You can seek out old friends and family, those who were previously lost to you. Keep in mind, however, that you may have faded from their thoughts and memories. You may go wandering, in search of beauty, truth, or the gods, but there is no guarantee you will find it.

"And you may partake in certain pleasures of the flesh - whores of any gender, and food and drink to supply a thousand feasts. Be warned, however - nothing will taste or feel as good as you expect it to. Indeed, the more you seek pleasures of the flesh, the less satisfying you will find them." Robb smirked. "Your... grandson, if I recall, complains of that often - but since he has no taste for wandering, little family to welcome him, and grows bored of viewing his legacy, the pleasure houses are where you are most likely to find him, if you wish."

"And if I found myself interested in my own legacy?"

Robb inclined his head. "That is perfectly reasonable. You are far from the only one. There is one rule, however, if you are to go that route."

"That being?"

"That being that the dead do not fight over the events in the land of the living. That is for our living kin to do. If you meet a man here whose son attacks your daughter, you and the man shall not come to blows. However," Robb grinned, "if someone here is being an ass, feel free to punch them in the face."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "I think I shall decline that offer," he said.

"If you say so," said Robb, still grinning. He stood. "I will show you the way."

Robb returned by the route he had come by, Tywin following in silence. They came to a halt outside the room Robb had mentally dubbed the 'viewing room.'

"One last thing," Robb said. "As I said before, you're far from the only one to hold an interest in legacy, especially during this War of the Five Kings. I'm afraid your method of death is far from a mystery to those who keep an eye on the living."

Tywin looked vaguely disgruntled.

"Also," he added, "I'm Robb Stark." Then he swung open the door and swept inside. "What did I miss?" he called.

"Your half-brother's still thinking about Stannis's offer of Winterfell," Rhaegar offered.

"Winterfell," Robert said, "and a wilding princess!"

"Stannis would legitimize Jon, I assume?" Robb asked, settling back into his usual spot on the second couch from the left.

"Aye."

"Jon Stark," Robb said. The words tasted a little funny in his mouth.

"What is Stannis doing at the Wall?" asked Tywin bluntly, standing behind Robb's couch. Half the room seemed to jump and stare at the newly dead Tywin Lannister. Tywin kept his gaze on the image displayed on the wall.

"The Wall's been besieged at Castle Black by a horde of wildings, with only a few hundred men defending," Ned finally answered. "Stannis finally took heed of the Night's Watch's warnings and pleas for assistance."

"About time," muttered Jeor Mormont, across the room.

A petulant voice from the doorway spoke. "Why is it that whenever I come here, nothing interesting is happening?"

"Nothing interesting, he says," mocked Balon Greyjoy. "If Snow accepts, the North will flock to Stannis. And that bodes ill for your precious lions."

"Maybe if you didn't leave when you got bored, you wouldn't miss the violence you hunger for," snarked Ygritte, who was sprawled across an entire couch at the far right end of the room. Joffrey flushed red.

Tywin Lannister turned to fix his grandson in his sights and raised an eyebrow. "Should I take that to be the reason why I was welcomed into the afterlife by a Stark?"

"Wha - you died?" Joffrey blurted, eyes going wide at the familiar face. "How?"

"Crossbow," said Tywin, "courtesy of your Uncle Tyrion." Joffrey gaped.

"Would you shut up, the lot of you?" Rhaegar Targaryen barked. "The Tarly boy is doing something interesting."

The room quieted; Joffrey slipped away to curl up on the edge of a couch, and Tywin found an armchair to sit in.

They watched as Samwell Tarly stammered his way through negotiations with Ser Denys and Cotter Pyke, suggesting that they might perhaps support Jon Snow - and suggesting that King Stannis might choose their rival, otherwise. Robert whistled. "Didn't think the kid had it in him to lie," he said.

"It's a curious ploy," said Jon Arryn. "Do you think it'll work?"

"Ten gold dragons say it will," Robb said.

"I'll take that bet."

"They don't exactly have a wealth of options," said Ned.

"They'd be fools not to choose him," Ygritte announced.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "He's clearly the only one that anyone will agree on."

Robb cast his gaze to the right. "Thoughts, Lord Commander?" he asked.

Jeor Mormont, the Old Bear, grunted. "Jon has potential," he allowed, "though I would have preferred for him to have a few more years' experience before taking the title."

"Much could be different if the young ones had had a few more years before this war," Ned said, thinking of his children.

The room grew quiet after that - at least until the choosing of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

"Pay up!" Robb crowed, and Jon Arryn grumbled before tossing him the promised ten dragons.

"Now he truly is Lord Snow," said Balon.

"Lord Snow," Tywin remarked, "and not Jon Stark."

"Aye," murmured Ned.

The image before them faded, before refocusing on the Vale.

"I must ask," began Tywin.

Robb interrupted him. "We can see anything we wish," he said, "but by default it focuses on whatever events hold the most significance."

Joffrey straightened in his seat. "Is that Sansa?" he asked, voice tinged with anger.

"Aye," said Rhaegar, with a warning flick of his eyes to Ned, "and she's well rid of you."

"Oh, you're one to talk," scoffed Robert.

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me? I hardly think anything I have done compares to the actions of your false son towards the Stark girl."

"The Stark girl, you say," Robert sneered. "Like you didn't take one for yourself."

Rhaegar leapt up from his seat, fixing a glare on Robert. "I took no one," he snarled. "Lyanna came willingly. It was you who she had no choice about."

Robert saw red, but Jon Arryn laid a hand on his arm. "And now all three of you are dead," he said, "and with nothing to show for it but a bastard passed off as the son of Ned Stark. It is over and done."

"A bastard who is now Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Rhaegar muttered as he sat back down.

Tywin's eyes widened a fraction. What he would have given to have that knowledge while he still lived...

"Well, it's not as if you had a hand in it," grumbled Robert, still glaring.

Rhaegar opened his mouth to continue the bickering, but was interrupted by, of all people, Ned Stark.

"What? What are you doing? NO! Littlefinger, get away from my daughter, you - you -"

Most of the viewing room's inhabitants had been watching the ping-pong battle of wits between Robert and Rhaegar, and thus were quite startled at the image they now turned back to: Petyr Baelish, lip-locked with Sansa Stark.

"What the fuck?" muttered Jon Arryn.

"Get away from her!" shouted Robb.

Ned growled, speechless, mouth twisted in a snarl. Incidentally, he exuded more anger than the combined rest of the room had ever seen while he was alive.

The room sighed a little with relief when Sansa wrenched free.

"The fuck does he think he's doing with my sister?" growled Robb, eyes fixed on Littlefinger. "Lecherous son of a whore."

"It's certainly unseemly," said Balon, "considering he's posing as her father."

Lord Robert Arryn entered the scene at that point, which at least laid to rest any fears that Littlefinger might try kissing Sansa again.

"Hard to believe the little swot is named for you," Rhaegar said to Robert, as they watched the little Lord Arryn scream and weep.

"He's my son," said Jon Arryn mildly, "and in poor health."

"That he is," said Robert.

"Does the leeching even help?" asked Ygritte.

Jon shrugged. "To an extent," he said.

"A sorry end to House Arryn," Balon said.

"He's not dead yet," Tywin felt the need to point out.

Balon snorted. "This is war. If your own grandson managed to get himself killed, how do you think the sickly Lord Arryn will fare?"

"The Arryn boy isn't sitting the Iron Throne," said Rhaegar. "Instead, he's in the Vale - which is probably a thousand times safer."

"Besides, I didn't 'get myself killed'," Joffrey said, hotly. "I was poisoned!"

Jon Arryn shook his head. "I was poisoned too, if you'll recall," he said dryly. "It still means that you lose the game of thrones." He glanced at Tywin. "Hopefully your other grandson will not meet a similar fate."

"There is nothing I can do for him now," said Tywin, "but hope that his mother and his Kingsguard will be able to keep him safe."

"Unfortunately, the Kingsguard is a sorry lot of late," Rhaegar said. "Tommen's father might well be the best of them, and he's missing a hand."

"A sorry fate," said Robert, shaking his head.

Tywin did his best not to choke. "Then the rumors were true," he said. "Cersei and Jaime..."

"Indeed," Ned said. "Your grandchildren are born of incest, and Jon and I died for discovering it."

"Can we not talk about this?" Joffrey muttered.

"Have this conversation later," said Jon Arryn. "Sansa is meeting with my wife."

The group tuned back in in time to hear Lysa declare, "I saw you kissing him."

"Oh, she noticed," said Rhaegar.

Robb glared. "He kissed her! Not the other way around!"

"Bit possessive, isn't she?" asked Ygritte.

"This is a love triangle to rival ours, Robert," said Rhaegar.

Ned snorted. "No love triangle could rival yours," he said. Then he frowned. "Still, however... this is borderline obsessive."

"I'll say," muttered Balon.

"Where are they going?" Joffrey asked, a few minutes later, at the conclusion of Lysa's speech.

"No," Ned breathed, as Sansa opened the Moon Door. "No, goodsister, no, don't you dare..."

Petyr Baelish entered, and Robb said, "If you don't want to be beaten bloody when you die, Littlefinger, you'll rescue Sansa and not lay another hand on her, do you hear me?"

"You told me to put the tears in Jon's wine, and I did," said Lysa, and the viewing room of the dead broke out in an uproar.

"You, goodsister?" Ned shouted. Beside him, Jon had grown pale. On Jon's right, Robert pounded his fist against the side table.

"That was where it began, yes?" Rhaegar asked, delicately. "The War of Five Kings might not have started had Jon Arryn not died before his time."

"Quite possibly," said Tywin.

"At the least, my father would not have gone south to King's Landing," Robb mused, glancing at his outraged father, "and as such the North would not have been moved to act."

Joffrey looked over to Rhaegar. "You've been dead this whole time," he said. "Don't you know?"

Rhaegar snorted. "Before the last few years, few events of import have happened. I had no reason to sit and watch Robert's reign - though I did stop in to view the lives of my two sons and my two siblings." He looked over at Tywin. "For all your attempts to cleanse the world of dragons," he said mildly, "you left quite a few behind. A pity that Viserys got himself killed..."

"Shut up for a moment!" yelled Ygritte, and all turned to watch just in time for Lysa Arryn to disappear out the Moon Door.

"...What the fuck?" Robert managed. Ned opened and closed his mouth, looking like a fish.

"Okay," muttered Robb to the unhearing Littlefinger, "I won't beat you when you die. As long as you don't try and kiss Sansa again."

"Scheming bastard," Jon said, staring at Littlefinger.

Tywin shook his head. "He plays the game well," he said.

Robb turned a hard stare on him. "That doesn't mean he's allowed to kiss my sister."

"Did I say that?" Tywin asked, mildly. "In any case, from what I know, your sister survived the impulses of my grandson, marriage to my son, and King's Landing itself - the last of which I cannot say is true of myself. Somehow I think that the girl will survive."

Robb's lips curled upward in a smile. "She will," he said softly.

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 _A/N: This was originally intended to be a one-shot; while people over on AO3 have clamored for me to write more, it's unlikely that I'll finish any further chapters of this. You may choose to follow in the unlikely case that I am further inspired. **Let me repeat:** this was written over **two years** **ago** as a **one-shot** and telling me to update is unlikely to do anything. I've marked this "Complete" for a reason.  
_


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